First Impressions (can be deceiving)
by fleetofships1
Summary: "Widely different was the effect of a second perusal..." P&P one-shots forming a pre/side/se-quel of sorts, written as major work for HSC English Extension 2, based off the 7 deadly sins and attempted in Austen's language. May be a little OOC. COMPLETE.
1. greed and generosity

**Disclaimer: P &P is all Jane's, I'm just the younger sister ;) So yeah if you recognise anything it's probably hers.**

 _It is a truth universally proclaimed by one William Collins that the wealthy, in particular those like the Right Honourable Lady Catherine de Bourgh, are full of affability and condescension; indeed, they are not at all in any way wanting…_

The younger of two children, a girl of about five, Catherine had always been overlooked in favour of the heir apparent. She was nobody's intimate friend, and now lingered forlorn in the shadows, having been pushed to the fringes of the room with the entrance of her father and brother.

"She is to be named Anne," came the whisper, laden with exhaustion; and yet her mother's face was suffused with some profound and indescribable emotion.

Catherine gazed on, a queer feeling swelling in her young breast, and was most surprised by the sudden surge of longing–a desire to be acknowledged, to be included and most of all _loved_. She repressed the anxiety welling within her; surely her worries were for naught, surely she ought to be happy, for had she not long entertained hopes of a playmate, someone to look up to her and adore her the way her parents adored her brother?

At ten, with strongly-marked features and a handsome complexion, Catherine strove to the utmost in singing, drawing, dancing, and the modern languages, desirous of gaining the universal approval that seemed far oftener and more liberally conferred upon her unthankful, capricious sister. The need to be the absolute best, to become an asset to society, saw her reflect with satisfaction on her perfect etiquette and comportment–she sniffed irritably at the recollection of Anne's decidedly uncouth behaviour–how utterly unladylike! Certainly nobody would ever catch _Catherine_ acting like that, and yet–how strange, that her impetuous younger sister possessed the ability to win over all and sundry in spite of her wild ways. It grated incessantly. Later, Catherine decided, reasoning that concessions must be made for the follies of youth; later, she would surely be called upon to impart her knowledge of the appropriate deportment–for certainly she herself, quick study though she was, had once needed to be taught the proper air and manner of walking, the tone of voice, address and expressions. At some future point, she solemnly avowed, she would sit Anne down and impress upon her the importance of maintaining the proper mannerisms becoming of young ladies of distinguished birth.

Five years hence saw her coming out, a stout, well-grown girl of fifteen; she envisioned herself bedecked with jewels, finally the centre of attention so long coveted. Soon she would surely make the acquaintance of a fine gentleman and, through the power of her own elevated prospects, be able to graciously assist her impertinent sister with the much-needed introductions.

Everything changed by the age of twenty. Catherine, still unspoken for in any way, was cast aside with nary a glance as gentlemen flocked to Anne Fitzwilliam, clamouring for her hand; it wasn't fair; Catherine was older (albeit less beautiful and more sharp-tongued, a traitorous niggling voice reminded her; why _should_ anyone choose her?) In her parents' eyes, when they did bother to take notice of their plain middle child, she sometimes discerned a faint disgusted pity–God! how she hated to be pitied!–intermingled with pride at their youngest's brilliance, for Anne indeed shone bright, overshadowing all else in attendance. Now the spirited younger sister was out, the dull elder could be no comparison. Anne, not Catherine, was the true ornament to society.

At five-and-twenty, upon marrying Sir Lewis de Bourgh of Rosings Park, she thought she'd finally won; Anne had begged her to reconsider, but Catherine knew better, for happiness in marriage was entirely a matter of chance and _love_ but a dream for the foolish. Their parents had been _so_ disappointed by Anne's choice the year prior–to be sure, George Darcy was rich, but he was no member of the peerage. Anne had married beneath her–now was Catherine's chance to recompense for the mistake, right the wrong. This was Catherine's chance to finally gain her parents' notice; surely the stateliness of money and rank was important to _them_. Perhaps they would finally notice her, just _her_ , for once.

At thirty, she realised she was wrong; she had done her best, but Anne had a healthy heir, Fitzwilliam, while Catherine had after two miscarriages borne a frail daughter, with no chance of another child. Though there was no entail, Lewis had been furious, and her fingers brushed over her cheek, even now tingling with memory. Catherine decided to name her daughter Anne –perhaps she too would grow up loved by all, like her namesake.

Lewis died when she was five-and-thirty.

Then her sister, at forty. She left behind a second child to complete their family–a perfect little girl, Georgiana.

When she was forty-five, Catherine wondered why she was so alone; Anne was sickly, Fitzwilliam and Georgiana unresponsive, George Darcy dead. The days melded as she alternated between empty one-sided conversations with Mrs Jenkins and silence.

At fifty, she met her destined parson in life. The lonely and neglected child within her, long starved of attention, had always yearned to assert its own place; and when it reached out its arms, crying for comfort, it found solace with William Collins–the one person who made her feel more than just small and lost and unwanted, whose clinging veneration was a balm for all wounds, filling the once-empty void. For the first time, she felt needed, as though she were indispensable: finally, she was appreciated by _someone_.

It was a feeling she had craved desperately all her life–and, of course, she was always charitable to those less fortunate–so she let him stay.

 **A/N: As long-requested, this is for you Sarah - happy (late) birthday!**


	2. mirth and memory

_Mr Charles Bingley, lately of Netherfield Park, in Hertfordshire, was a man who, for his own amusement, never took up a book but undertook multiple other pursuits, nearly exceeding even his own ample income…_

"Upon my honour, I never met with so many pleasant girls in my life as I have this evening; and there are several of them you see uncommonly pretty," cried one Charles Bingley; it was a slight exaggeration of course, but one he trusted would be quite amenable to the ladies. It had the added advantage of being in what might almost be called defiance to his at times insupportable friend Fitzwilliam Darcy, and certainly Bingley staidly believed his own declaration, or thought he did, in the way one always does until proven wrong; for a young man such as Mr Bingley falls in love with the same ease he falls out of it, thereby maintaining a very frequent inconsistency, and Miss Bennet, the current principal object of his covetousness, was by no means the first, though any instances to the contrary where quite forgotten at present when basking in the light of the most beautiful creature he had ever beheld…

* * *

The first had been the eldest Miss Thorpe: tall and handsome, she had high animal spirits, and a natural self-consequence, which the attention of various admirers, to whom her own playful manners recommended her, had increased into assurance. Isabella Thorpe undoubtedly possessed manifold attractions, but as a determined and capricious flirt, in the worst and meanest degree of flirtation, she had been found most unsuitable, to say nothing of being so entirely without fortune.

Augusta Hawkins had been next and she might have done nicely: in addition to all the usual advantages of beauty and merit, she was in possession of so many thousands as would always be called ten. The youngest of two daughters of a Bristol merchant, with the eldest _very well married_ , Miss Hawkins unfortunately showed a decided lack of elegance, in seeking to display her own merits through the connection to her brother Mr Suckling and Maple Grove; such vulgar vanity would never suit indeed.

Third was Mary Crawford of the pretty eyes; lively and charming, she was the epitome of the accomplished woman, particularly in regards to her skill with the harp, the superiority of which left one quite in raptures. The twenty thousand pounds would have been quite satisfactory and she was all loveliness indeed; but, however, he did not persist in the acquaintance, the mere circumstance of which was precipitated by her positively abrupt departure from town.

Then there was Diana Parker–most friendly and warm-hearted was she, and there could have been no scruple in his pursuing this slender and delicate lady of middling height save the extraordinary wretchedness she was purported to suffer; it was said she, as with her brothers and sisters, did not know a day's health. That being said, she was excellently useful otherwise, with so much goodwill for all, one wondered indeed at her weak constitution–for that, really, was the only obstacle; agreeable though she was, the old grievance which attended her with such constancy was entirely unpleasant for all listeners, for certainly the topic of spasmodic bile, inserted with great frequency into every utterance, could not be a welcome one in any circle.

After Miss Parker came Miss Lucy Steele, monstrously pretty and good-humoured and clever; and likewise an illiterate, selfish and sly little creature. Bingley honestly had no notion of such deceit; thank the heavens for Darcy, whose timely intervention had saved him from the inconvenience of such imprudence–what a scrape, to be drawn in by the arts and allurements of such an undeniable fortunehunter, and one already spoken for, no less!

Finally, there was Louisa Musgrove: fashionable and happy, merry and eager, with all the usual stock of accomplishments. Her spirits were high, to the point of an almost dangerous impetuosity; really, she put forward much for notice, with more than the usual share of resolve and much determination. Indeed, one might argue if it were Bingley's pursuit of her or vice-versa; however, _that_ line soon came to an end, for she set off with something of an equal stubbornness upon another's path.

* * *

But now–this time, Charles Bingley thought he had truly found a prize worth having; oh yes, Jane Bennet had seemingly won over even his sisters, who admired her and liked her exceedingly, insofar as to pronounce her a sweet girl; and so he felt authorised by such commendation to think of her as he chose.

 **A/N: To all reviewers - seriously, reviews make my day, so thank you thank you!**


	3. pomp and pretension

_No one who had ever seen William Collins in his infancy would have supposed him to become anything but a most conscientious and polite young man, with great humility of manner…_

Such an unsanctified estrangement, considering that all were family in the eyes of God, did not recommend itself to Mr Collins, who had always loved the thought of reconciliation and of proffering an olive branch to his bereft relatives. Of course any derivation from his father's directions was rather disconcerting but this was a necessity, absolutely essential now that he was in a position of such power and authority; it must be in everyone's interest to make things right, and what better way to do so than his plan of amends? He thought it an excellent one, full of eligibility and suitableness, and trusted the circumstances would contrive to make his present overture highly commendable…

* * *

"That is what she said," he said soothingly, wondering what the problem was, for the discussion at hand could not possibly matter at all, "it is utter nonsense of course; rest your mind on that account, Madam, for I am _perfectly_ aware that it is the custom with young ladies to reject the addresses of the man whom they secretly mean to accept, in consistency with the true delicacy of the female character. I assure you I am by no means deterred by your fair daughter's refusal; rather, I attribute it to her wish of increasing my love by suspense, according to the usual practice of elegant females."

Throughout his magnanimous speech Mrs Bennet's countenance had adopted quite the distraught look and she spoke vehemently in tones that quite alarmed him indeed, before she quit the room in a hurry, in the direction of the library. Therein were sown the first seeds of doubt and division, and Mr Collins began to feel somewhat agitated; surely the accusations were not true, and yet there was certainly something to be said about Miss Elizabeth's manner–could it be that the same coyness he had attributed to the feminine arts and allurements was in fact a most undesirable impertinence? The very thought was too distressing indeed!

"headstrong foolish girl… never get a husband… never see you again!"

Down the hallway drifted the snippets of Mrs Bennet's shrill remonstrances; certainly, he thought, the wayward girl was most deserving of sound rebuke, and his lips quirked into a smile, only to be hastily tampered; for as an agent of all that was holy he ought to behave as befitting of his station in life–with benign condescension towards those not likewise bestowed with superior intelligence. Certainly it would not do to be unforgiving; not that he was unforgiving, of course, but still… all in all, he had much better not smile, lest someone mistake his Christian benevolence for unseemly irreverence. He sighed; the sacrifices that one made in the name of duty were all very taxing indeed! No one could possibly empathise with the burden of a divine gift; no one could understand his trials as a voice of the almighty, as the sole shepherd of the mundane and mindless flock. Why, the very weight of the world seem to lie on his shoulders alone; for such was his life as the chosen one, to act as a humble intermediary, a mere siphon, for the Lord.

At last the cheerful little room he departed, but with scarce any cheer in his heart; for a grave offense had occurred here, a slight upon his proffered gift. There might be time yet to guide the girl unto the right path but her saviour would not, could not, be him; this must have been _His_ good at work, for clearly she had no notion of the honour that had almost–so nearly, he shuddered–been conferred upon her. He had endured her insolence thus far with great forbearance, but no longer– what a fortunate escape on his part; and he silently offered his most profuse thanks, that when there was the need, where there was a problem, He had again provided the answer, by most rightfully staying his hand. Everything had worked itself out as was meant to be, after all; she had made her choice and he, with Heaven's blessing, had made his. _Thank God!–_ that he had been narrowly saved from the path of sin, from the devilish lure and temptation of her feminine wiles.

Of Mrs Bennet he dare not say–giving a wounded sigh, with a weary heart, he turned towards the breakfast-room to break the unfortunate news to her, poor woman that she was; what a blow to her fragile heart! He was not to be united with her daughter–that she must understand, for Heaven had decreed it to be so–and as such she must be pitied for the loss. There had been so much opportunity, a chance for _their_ greater good–and yet, despite his actions on their behalf, he had been repulsed. Sometimes, in spite of his heavenly mandate, his authority as a clergyman, and his right as a rector, there was just no saving people–for such was his job, to deliver the subjects of the Lord, and he took his occupation very seriously indeed; but he was helpless when those in question refused to be helped. Of course, everyone was liable to error–even him, as was evident from this very circumstance–however, he was sure the girl would in a moment repent her refusal, though his own mind was made; and as such, he entered the room.

Upon his entrance several ladies rather rapidly departed, much to his confusion, for he had not the slightest intention of vexing so happily fair a group; he found consolation in that one young–or at least young insomuch as compared to Mrs Bennet–lady stayed behind. Her name, he found, was Miss Lucas and while very amiable, she was not at all handsome; and thusly he turned his mind back to the task at hand.

Affecting an expression at once wounded and graciously forgiving, which was a particular skill he, in spite of his own humble nature, could profess great talent for, he took it upon himself to breach the subject that must be painful to all, but especially them. Having done what he thought best for the family, to no avail, Mr Collins was quite resigned; and not the less so from feeling a doubt of his positive happiness had he secured his cousin's hand. He had of course meant well through the whole affair, with the object of securing a companion for himself; and here the thought gave him pause as he reconsidered the situation–perhaps all was not lost, after all; the Bennets were not the only genteel family with single young ladies in the neighbourhood and perhaps, he considered, surveying Miss Lucas critically, _some_ with more wisdom than Miss Elizabeth might be amenable to his proposition. At any rate he had much better not chuse one of the Bennet daughters; clearly they were not as amiable as presented by common report, for his attempts at atonement had been ungraciously rebuffed–not that he should care, for making the offer had been but a Christian duty, one excessively generous and disinterested on his own part. Certainly _he_ had other options, a young man favoured with such fortunate and early preferment always did; and a pure and simple soul would be very fitting indeed. At this, Miss Lucas again came to mind–for certainly she must not be accustomed to attention in that quarter, and he flattered himself that his reception would be of the most flattering kind, particularly welcome and answering the passionate plea of her as yet untouched heart; although perhaps all in all it would be much better if she were not impassioned, for nobody could want a wanton woman…

* * *

Mr Collins could have wept at their devotion, at the one final courtesy they insisted upon offering him–it did not occur to him that the invitation back was not one they had extended but rather one he had pronounced himself–and he was delighted that even after the untoward circumstance, after their former disagreement, they had so quickly realised their mistake and were obviously even now trying to make amends! How glad he was that they had seen the light; he was always right, everyone would see that in time. After all, how could an emissary of the Lord, a leader of the light, be wrong? Surely Judgement Day would occur beforehand. Yes, all in all, despite certain… setbacks, it would be a most favourable report; he had thoroughly enjoyed the visit, and it reminded him of what it was all for–this house he was to inherit one day–and he reflected on it all with a rather unholy satisfaction.

 **A/N: Reviewers, love y'all!**


	4. anger and alteration

_About a half-year ago, Miss Jane Bennet of Longbourn, with only one thousand pounds, had the good luck to captivate Mr Charles Bingley, at that time of Netherfield Park, in the county of Hertfordshire, but having concealed her great strength of feeling with equally great composure of temper, she was thereby left with all the poor comfort and consolation of a uniform cheerfulness of manner that kept the world equally in the dark…_

"Patience is a virtue". Such was the particular advice and recommendation of every adult she had ever met; and so Jane had done her best, ever since she was a child.

But now–heaven and earth, would her trials never cease? As the air filled with loud wails for the umpteenth time, she squeezed her eyes shut, jaw tightening with effort; unwittingly, of their own accord, her hands balled into fists and she flexed her fingers in a vain attempt to release the tension. Damp palms smoothing down the folds of her dress, she rose suddenly to her feet, wanting to escape. God forgive her, but sometimes it was hard not to resent her mother. What gave _her_ the right to mourn for Charles–Mr Bingley's–departure? Teeth gritted, she resisted the urge to scream; yes, she could acknowledge more than a semblance of bitterness at the abruptness of his leave, but her mother's flamboyant dramatics only made everything that much worse. What sort of mother was Mrs Bennet, that she was so wretchedly blind to the pain she was inflicting upon her own daughter? Each screech, every fanciful conjecture, only deepened the wound.

But she was Jane Bennet of Longbourn, Hertfordshire, the sister distinguished by her sweet and gentle nature, and so she was expected to quietly bear her mother's unbearable behaviour day after day–each reiteration of the perceived injustice to Mrs Phillips, to Charlotte Lucas; even to Mr Bennet, when he did bother to venture out from seclusion. It was frankly intolerable.

The words had burst out unbidden in a fit of frustration, unable to be suppressed any longer; and so she had admitted it to Lizzy.

"Oh, that my dear mother had more command over herself! She can have no idea of the pain she gives me by her continual reflections on him".

But even then was she disappointed. Of course it had been unreasonable to expect her one confidante, her wittiest and most outspoken sister to understand; of course Jane deserved first incredulity before sympathy. Because she was Jane Bennet, the peaceful, the tender, the mild–and so she was supposed to be ever-patient…

Cheeks smarting, eyes burning, she took several deep breaths, struggling to stifle the rapidly rising anger that had bubbled to the surface. After all, she had wrought this upon herself; some part of this must be her recompense. Perhaps if she had not been so accommodating in the first place, perhaps if she had made her preference plain, perhaps… _he_ wouldn't have left; and then there would have been no need for her mother's current hysteria.

Jane heaved a sigh, lost beneath Mrs Bennet's idle mutterings, and murmured a quiet prayer for strength. Still, the constant complaints grated; how difficult it was, to maintain a façade of docility with a stream of shrill shrieks resonating in one's ear! As in her head pounded an unsteady drum ever-louder, she pressed her fingers to her temples, trying futilely to ease the pulsing pain. Rather fortunately for her, her mother's fit of pique then turned to the other topic of frequent musings: Lizzy and Mr Collins.

Finally Jane ceased her pacing about the room and perched tensely on the edge of a chair, lifting a cup of willowbark tea to her lips.

Could she; would she?

Her mother's garbled admonishments sounded, louder than ever, a mixture of complaints about all of her daughters except her precious Lydia. Jane Bennet had spent all of her life in the service of others. Perhaps, just maybe, it was time to put herself first.

As the cup slammed down, she calmly exited the room without a word.

 **A/N: Thanks reviewers (and especially phyloxena who has left a review every chapter so far) - I really appreciate it!**


	5. joy and jealousy

_A clergyman and his lady, whose kindness once upon a time had extended further than Elizabeth had any conception of, were travelling from Kent towards that part of Hertfordshire which lies between Meryton and London, being induced to quit their home and duty for the time being…_

Charlotte Collins née Lucas, at twenty-eight years old, was blessed with a comfortable home of her own and protection, and seemed genuinely happy for her former neighbours. But, alas! she was intelligent enough to know she had been and always would be less in everyone's eyes: less bold, less bright, less beautiful; oh yes, she was nothing to the Bennet sisters, as her own mother was exceedingly fond of saying.

Really, she did rejoice for Lizzy's match; truly–Jane, Bingley, Lizzy, Darcy–she was glad on their behalf, or flattered herself that she earnestly endeavoured to be.

Why was it that the waves of the present could not wash away the sands of time?

Charlotte was no romantic; marriage was the only honourable provision for well-educated young women of small fortune, and marriage she had been able to obtain, without having ever been handsome. It was truly a stroke of good fortune, and her whole family had been properly overjoyed; for once, she, the odd, unwanted daughter, had been good for something, good enough for them. She had gained herself an establishment, a most pleasant preservative from want. Such had always her object–it was all she could have asked for, once upon a time, and more than she had ever dreamed. But could dreams change?

"I am convinced my happiness with him is as fair as most people can boast on entering the marriage state".

Her own words haunted her like the proverbial dagger, mocking. Her stomach clenched, along with her fists, as Jane and Lizzy floated down the aisle, radiant as ever–the picture-perfect blushing brides. Soon, they would have all Charlotte had ever wanted and more; she swallowed thickly at the palpable happiness in both couples' countenances. With Bingley it was justifiable–it had been a long time coming, rather. But it was incomprehensible, that a man such as Darcy could be so transformed–she could not reconcile his smiling visage with that of the stern aristocrat who had first entered Hertfordshire so long ago. His gaze was intense, fixated on Lizzy as though she was all the world; inadvertently, Charlotte glanced sideways at her husband and sighed, the lump in her throat rendering her mute while he babbled away the way he always had…

* * *

"My dear Miss Lucas, you can hardly doubt the purpose of my discourse…"

Mr Collins' voice droned on interminably, oblivious to Charlotte's inner turmoil. Doubtless he was detailing yet again the graciousness of his noble patroness, the Right Honourable Lady Catherine de Bourgh, and her remarkable condescension towards himself and his humble abode. And so his drivel continued as her pulse quickened, drumming in her ears; she knew this was the correct decision–the only decision, for her. Another offer of marriage was by no means certain–in all likelihood it was impossible; she could acknowledge this readily enough now, with perhaps just the slightest sting, and yet!–teeth gritted in bitter resignation, she dug her nails into her shaking palms.

Yes, Mr Collins was ridiculous and obsequious and altogether irksome; he was neither sensible nor agreeable; really, there was scarcely a man one could like less. But he was the owner of Hunsford Parsonage, clergyman to Lady Catherine de Bourgh and heir to Longbourn. It was a most eligible match considering his character, connections and situation in life, allowing something more for the latter two than the former, and she would not regret her choice, though she wished she had more than just one. This was the right thing to do for her family, for herself–for all of them–and so she would.

Her only concern was Lizzy; Lizzy would never understand–how could she? _She_ had never been the object of ridicule, save the affectionate teasing of her father. But Charlotte–Charlotte was different. Charlotte was a burden to her parents. Charlotte had heard the smug gossip that ran rampant behind her back.

"You must own she is very plain…"

"Absolutely dowdy, and quite unmarriageable indeed…"

"No offers… on-the-shelf"

Each whisper was another blow against the fortress of her heart. The expressive glances, the pitying smiles–she knew them all too well, the litany of her failings as a daughter.

People sang praises to her face, of course; plain old Charlotte Lucas would never be beautiful like Jane or charismatic like Elizabeth, that much was obvious, but there were compliments enough–something arbitrary along the lines of "good" or "sensible" or, very often, "kind". Sometimes, it was hard to quash the irritation that would flare up as she endured the constant comparison to her neighbours. She tried to repress her resentment, pretend that she was as heedless, as uncaring as Elizabeth–but it was not the same, would never be the same. Charlotte Lucas could not afford to be a romantic like Elizabeth– _Elizabeth_ was not twenty-seven and homely, with no prospects, a veritable spinster-in-the-making; and now neither was she. This was her chance to be first for once–almost unconsciously, she exhaled, mouth opening to seal her fate.

"Yes".

* * *

"I do".

Cheers filled the church as tears wound down Charlotte's face; and predictably, she was just one amongst the crowd.

 **A/N: Sorry for the late update (was busy with a ball + friend's birthday) and thank you very much, lovely reviewers!**


	6. desire and duplicity

_Georgiana Darcy, timid, shrinking and diffident, with a respect for others that almost overcame her affection, seemed to be a very model of virtue; and had lived nearly seventeen years in the world without a hint of scandal to her name…_

Miss Darcy was good-looking and ladylike; she had a handsome countenance and demure, pleasant voice, and was a great favourite with her brother, whose affection had kept her from the public at an early age. She soon drew the attention of the room by her fine, tall person, august features, noble mien, and the report which was in general circulation within five minutes after her entrance, of her having thirty thousand pounds. Such amiable qualities must speak for themselves; nothing could be more delightful, and for about half the evening many a young man was in danger of paying the heiress too much attention, till her indifferent ways gave a disgust which turned the tide of her popularity. Her character was decided: she was the shiest, most unresponsive woman in the world, and reserved to the point of utter dreariness. Indeed, there could be no intrigue, no skeletons in the cupboard for this nervous and introverted creature; nobody could possibly even attempt to besmirch the reputation of the clean-cut becoming-blushing good-girl debutante, so meek and reticent was she. The mere idea of it was unfathomable; preposterous, that this skittish and withdrawn woman could be hiding any deep dark secrets!

* * *

Georgiana shivered, knees drawn to her chest in a tight huddle and eyes shut in dreamy contemplation. Truly, it was an honour to be so sought after at the ball; and yet, after all this time, there was only one man's attention she wanted; one man she needed. Harsh breathing filled the room as, rapid and agitating, a blur of memories came, faces and voices melding into one; his, only, always his. He alone was the centre of every thought, every secret wish and desire.

His dazzling charm and smiling graces, invariably drawing the eye – and her the only to draw his. An effortlessly draped form almost sauntering in its symmetry; the embodiment of careless and lounging perfection.

Speech sleek and sensual, smooth as silk; whispered secrets sliding across slick skin; a shining web, silvery with promise, ensnaring her fragile, fluttering heart.

The taste of euphoria, thrillingly unfamiliar; the heady tang of adrenaline ghosting across her lips with the briefest chill; a burst of cinnamon, sugar and spice, leaving her parched, gagging, consumed by an unquenchable thirst.

An intoxicating mix of danger and excitement and the enticing scent of the here and now, the air feverishly bright with some unknown promise.

Strength radiating from arms looped protectively, possessively around her waist as she leaned back, trusting him to never let her fall; feeling like the most desirable woman in the world and not just Georgiana, the little girl, the sister, the heiress.

But in the end, that was all she was.

The shock caused her eyes to fly open, wide and glassy with unshed tears, nails carving angry red frowns in the tender flesh of her palms. She hated it, that she could still feel this way about him after his betrayal, after everything he had done… he had played them all and her the most and somehow, _somehow_ , she still longed for the burning butterfly kisses pressed to her gloved palm, insistent fingers trailing up her arm, long lazy thumbstrokes caressing from cheekbone to chin. Her breath caught in a half-sob as she remembered it all – warm hands on her waist, waltzing her in dizzying circles around the parlour, Mrs Younge nodding, looking on with an indulgent smile.

It shook her, how it was all so real, inescapable–his mark would remain with her for a lifetime, the heat of his touch pervaded her dreams, he had left an indelible handprint on her heart. It was an affliction, this disease, robbing her of sanity, of innocence–for once upon a time, she too had been a child who painted rainbows and wished upon the first star in the sky, who danced amongst the autumn leaves and blew out dandelions to help them grow. But that girl was gone now, changed by the man who was once her everything–and who truthfully, was everything still.

 **A/N: Now this chapter is definitely OOC for the Regency Period, but hope you still enjoy - and this is the second-last instalment sadly, but once the story is complete let me know if you want me to expand any of the snippets further! Thanks to those who favourite/follow this story, and even more thanks to the wonderful people who review :)**


	7. regret and redemption

_The family of Bennet had long been settled in Longbourn – for how long exactly, Mr Bennet could not possibly say, as with a book he was regardless of time…_

Mr Bennet, married for four-and-twenty years now, had spent approximately the same amount of time ensconced in the library at Longbourn. Indeed, most believed him either exceedingly industrious or else his books excessively diverting, though the truth was neither of those.

Something more substantial, such as the improvement of his mind through extensive reading, was not that which he sought; far be it from him to do so, though he was indeed rather quick-witted and indulged his mirth for the most part at the expense of his dim-witted wife.

His books were his refuge; solace, from the dreaded machinations of wife and daughter–and atonement for his own failings in that measure. The guise of diligence soothed the–admittedly very slight–unease he felt at his own inaction, both past and present. He knew his family's sufferings to be his own doing, or lack thereof; he simply had not the inclination to temper his youngest daughter, and lifelong unhappiness for her must be the result. Wife of Mr Wickham! And yet even so, he was not overpowered by the impression of responsibility–for his usual disinterested lethargy ensured guilt was but a fleeting figure.

After all, it was not really _his_ fault that his youngest had turned out so wild; that must be attributed wholly to Fanny–Lydia took after her mother in more ways than one. He shuddered at the very thought; how vacant the unlearned mind and how shrill the untamed voice! It was simply unbearable. Honestly, it was _their_ behaviour that had driven _him_ to negligence and _their_ subsequent undoing–the blame must perforce rest with themselves. Indeed, the only tolerable person in the house was Lizzy; even Jane, gentle soul that she was, was rather too placid, too complacent of spirit to commiserate with Mr Bennet's woes.

And woe on him indeed! Not only had he put up with a squadron of silly women for the past quarter-century but he now had the added burden of guilt, however minute, at his past behaviour–for his entire life, he had abdicated from duty.

He had lately wished that instead of spending his whole income he had laid by an annual sum for the better provision of his wife and children, but given the marriages of his two eldest there no longer seemed any cause–and naturally he reverted to all his former indolence.

And now it shamed him. For his two son-in-laws to offer so easily what he could not in all his lifetime; their generosity made pittance of his trifling exertions. Yet even as he contemplated preserving his pride he knew he could not refuse their goodwill in building his daughters' dowries; if he ever did something in this lifetime to help them, let this be it–for Mary and Kitty, he would.

 **A/N: Sorry I missed an update last week! Title for this chapter stolen from another P &P fanfic. And now - well, that's all, folks! Hope you enjoyed the story. ****Thank you everyone for sticking with me, especially faithful reviewers phyloxena and Deanna27, and let me know if you wish to see more of any of the characters!**


End file.
